This week I had to admit to a hole in my soul. I don't mind so much as I'm surprised by it. It woke me early every morning, fighting a rising sense of dread.

Also, this week the boy seems to have discovered art. I have been giving impromptu lecture-discussions every morning about whatever he has pulled out of a stack of art history books. It's completely exciting to exercise an old body of knowledge, to suddenly become relevant. It's also surprisingly exhausting.

Someone I know at a distance has spiraled all the way down to homelessness. That this person is my age, and has children too, makes it completely terrifying. It seems like something medication would help a lot, and would also be something that this person has self-mythologized beyond grasping.

I'd like to be more lyrical about everything. I'd like to stitch pieces together to make something beautiful. I think I'll start by making felt out of dryer lint, or making a skirt out of plastic bananas. That would be a start.

We wake up to a Saturday with no espresso, so we go to the chain coffee joint by the highway. People here aren't better looking than anywhere else, they just seem unaware of their ugliness. The toddler ensconced in an enormous baby buggy and ignored. The lady who has taken all her style cues from Ali McGraw of 40 years ago walks out with three or four pastries and two coffees and by the way she waits, plucking at the clothes that hang from her bones, it looks like impending scarf-and-barf. Only one guy, wide as a door and shambling, seems to be at all comfortable.

I spent a bit of time yesterday remembering the lace of scars that used to cover my skin and the hatred and fear that put them there. They are all healed and gone now, and you would never know unless I told you. It's been a good ten years and I am grateful for the distance.

The lettuces and the herbs are growing nicely. There is even one strawberry reddening in its pot on the deck. This morning gave cool air and a lone woodpecker. I have one day to get ready for what the next five will bring and that will have to be enough.

Sunday Secret: I knew he was faking it. One time, I noticed that the condom lying in the trash looked--empty. So I checked it, and every time after.